


All I See Is You, Lately

by runaway_train



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, No Smut, One Shot, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaway_train/pseuds/runaway_train
Summary: Harry noticed him for the first time three months ago. He couldn’t not, really, what with the man being so pretty and all, and Harry remembers it well because it was three days before his birthday and he had joked to himself that seeing someone so gorgeous for three days on the trot must be an early present from the Gods.OrThe one where Harry has a crush on a fellow commuter.





	All I See Is You, Lately

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of the [1D Short Fic Fest](https://1dshortficfest.tumblr.com).
> 
> I have a Tumblr which is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hello. The specific post for this fic is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/post/183051149540/all-i-see-is-you-lately-written-as-part-of-the).
> 
> Title is from ['Electricity' by Silk City & Dua Lipa ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4-jOuHO-z4)

Harry noticed him for the first time three months ago. He couldn’t not, really, what with the man being so pretty and all, and Harry remembers it well because it was three days before his birthday and he had joked to himself that seeing someone so gorgeous for three days on the trot must be an early present from the Gods.  And Harry wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly when the man, in fact, started getting the 7.43am from Watford High Street every weekday morning, but it can’t have been for much before that first day, he’s sure he would have clocked him. He’s been getting this train himself for nearly two years after all.

He doesn’t always sit on the same carriage as him, and even when he does, Harry tries his best not to stare, thankful that he was already in the habit of bringing a book to read on the platform and during the journey, using said novel as something to distract himself with and to hide behind if on the rare occasion he does get caught looking. It’s really hard not to though. Stare, that is, because Mystery Man is just so damn attractive. It didn’t help matters that Harry didn’t even get to see all his features in one go. It ended up being a gradual process, due to the time of year. The man’s hair wasn’t unveiled until three weeks in because he wore a thick, pale grey beanie every day to ward off the cold from his cute ears, only revealing the soft, shaggy mop of brunette for the first time one morning when the winter sun had finally decided to appear after endless days of grey cloud and rain. And Harry couldn’t have known just how many tattoos he had on his arms until the thick hoodies and jackets were replaced with slightly thinner jumpers or shirts with the sleeves rolled up when the weather started to warm up enough for Mystery Man to peel off a garment or two once he was settled into a seat on board. Harry wonders if any of the inked markings have meaning or significance to the man, like his own do, or if they are simply random doodles. The sharp cheekbones though, and the dazzling cerulean eyes that Harry has caught glimpses of when he’s close enough, and the firm, shapely thighs wrapped in tight denim, Harry had definitely noticed them from the get go.

Harry’s got no idea what Mystery Man does for a living. It’s obvious he has a regular day job, due to the habitual nature of his daily travelling into the city, but his clothes give little away. He dresses casually, more often than not clad in skinny jeans and sweaters, a pair of well looked after black Vans on his feet, so stricter professions and locales seem unlikely. And he rarely has a bag with him, so changing into a uniform or being a student that has to carry a lot of books and notepads isn’t all that probable either. But as Harry knows all too well, that doesn’t mean much these days, a lot of offices now adopting a relaxed dress code. He himself forgoes a shirt and tie in exchange for vintage band t-shirts and skinny jeans to work as a training and recruitment manager for a large high street restaurant chain. Harry does surmise he works close to the station at the other end however, because he’s watched him head straight for the exit a few times whereas Harry needs to catch the tube three stops east on the Northern Line to Old Street.

Mystery Man’s not a morning person, Harry can definitely tell. He buys a large black coffee with an extra shot every single day from the kiosk at the far end of the platform, except when he’s running too late and doesn’t have time, and he almost always arrives at the station after Harry, often rubbing his knuckles into his eye sockets and stifling yawns until well into the journey to Euston like he hasn’t been up for long. Harry doesn’t need coffee, but he’ll treat himself to one once or maybe twice a week, and it’s more to warm himself up rather than for the caffeine. That’s the only reason he knows the guy’s order, because he’s heard it being called out as it’s being handed over to his delicate fingers covered almost entirely by sweater paws a couple of times.

Tiredness doesn’t stifle his love for music though, the cords of Mystery Man’s earphones consistently dangling down either side of his neck and connecting into his phone, the near constant tapping of his foot, or nodding of his head, or drumming of his fingertips against his thigh evidence of his predilection to uptempo beats. What Harry wouldn’t do to see his playlist, to discuss at length his favourite genres and artists and lyrics and gigs that he might have attended. That’s one of the many conversations Harry envisages having with him.

Very occasionally he’s not alone. Another guy of a similar age joins him, and he’s beautiful too, but maybe not in quite the same way. Whilst Mystery Man is gorgeous in a gentle manner, the friend has more of a smouldering, bad boy look about him; dark eyes and darker hair, cropped short to reveal tattoos littering his head and neck, underlined by the leather and studs of his jacket, outerwear not suitable for British temperatures at present. He usually has a cigarette in his equally tattooed hand, often blowing rings of smoke purposely into Mystery Man’s face which makes him laugh rather than grimace and offer a playful shove in retaliation. An ex-smoker himself maybe? Harry doesn’t think they’re romantically involved, having yet to witnessed any physical affection that would make him assume otherwise, but they are definitely close, chatting animatedly the whole journey as if they have a lot to discuss. Harry keeps his distance even more so on those days. It’s one thing to admire someone from afar, quite another to eavesdrop onto private conversations.

Harry’s only ever heard Mystery Man speak twice. The first time, was when he was sat near him on the same coach, and he had asked the person beside him if they could kindly discard his empty coffee cup in the bin beside them. The second was when he swore loudly, having dropped his train pass onto the soaking wet ground one morning whilst trying to place it back in his jacket pocket having not long walked through the barrier, before turning to one of the station employees and enquiring if they had a tissue. His voice has a raspy edge that Harry likes, teamed with an accent that Harry imagines would give even the dullest of anecdotes punch and personality. He longs to hear it more, but another opportunity has yet to present itself to date.

There’s been a couple of times that Harry has felt his distinct absence. The platform is big, but not all that big, so whenever he doesn’t see him, he ponders as to his whereabouts, knowing he definitely isn’t on the train. When it’s only one day, he chalks it down to sleeping in, or perhaps a sick day. When it’s more than that, Harry assumes he’s on holiday, off seeing other parts of the globe that exist outside Harry’s daydreams and the tracks of the TFL London Overground. At the end of April, Harry goes away himself for a week, a trip with his sister, and whilst he doesn’t think all that much about his crush when in a foreign land, he’s elated to see him again come Monday morning when he returns, a very probably inappropriate feeling to have for what is essentially a complete stranger. 

The following day, Harry sleeps in, and has to run for the train, only just making it aboard as the doors close for the final time and the tin can that carries him to his daily grind trudges out of the station with little fan fair. He pants from the unexpected exertion while he finds a free double seat, embarrassed to notice out the corner of his eye that Mystery Man is not only on the same carriage today, but also has his sporadic cohort with him as well.

Harry’s barely managed to get his breath back when someone sits down beside him and pulls down the tray on the back of the seat in front of Harry, placing a steaming paper cup with the recognisable logo of the platform coffee kiosk on to it once it’s clicked into place.

“And there was me thinking buying you a coffee this morning was about to be a waste of time.”

“Sorry, what?” It comes out rough, being the first time Harry’s used his voice this morning.

“Regular flat white, no sugar right?” Mystery Man says, nodding at the cup.

Harry is too stunned to say anything other than, “right.”

He shrugs and answers Harry’s unasked question. “Heard your order a couple of times. You don’t seem to be a caffeine addict like me though.”

“Uh…”

He twists his body to face Harry a little better, squinting against the morning sunlight hitting the glass beside them. “So how was the holiday last week? Go anywhere nice?”

“How do you know I was on holiday?”

He grins. “Well for a second I worried you might be ill, because I hadn’t seen you, but then you came back yesterday with a bit of tan, so I figured a holiday was more likely.”

“Oh, um…” Harry attempts to swallow the grit in his throat. “I was in Italy. Southern Italy.”

“Bellissimo,” he responds, imitating an Italian accent rather poorly. He’s so very, very cute, Harry thinks, and so much prettier this close up. 

Harry fiddles with the coffee sleeve around the gifted cup. “Sorry, um… I’m not really sure what’s going on here.”

“Well my friend, Zayn, the one sitting back there,” he gestures with his thumb behind him, “he was getting sick of me whinging about you not coming over and asking me out, so I thought I would do us all a favour and buy you a coffee and do it myself.”

“You want to ask me out?” Harry’s top teeth settle into the swell of his bottom lip.

Mystery Man nods his head. “Definitely. We’ve been checking each other out for long enough. And truth be told, I’m not a morning person and having to get the earlier train to see you is a ball-ache.”

Harry shakes this head in wide-eyed disbelief. “You don’t really get an earlier train just to see me?”

“I do actually,” he chuckles. “Used to the get the one after this but I ended up on this one by chance one morning and found the visuals a lot more appealing at this particular time. And it’s worth it to see the little smile on your face every day when I turn up. I’m a sucker for a dimple.”

Harry’s blush deepens. “I’ve not been very subtle, have I?”

“Not really, no, even with the books you try and cover yourself up with. But it’s adorable, makes me like you even more Curly.”

“Curly?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Yeah. It was Zayn that named you that, you know, ‘cause of the hair,” he motions to Harry’s shoulder length tresses, “but I liked it so it stuck.”

“My name’s Harry,” he informs him.

“And I’m Louis. So, Harry, I had better get back to Zayn, but we can sit together tomorrow morning and plan our date for this weekend.” He kisses Harry’s cheek and jumps up from the seat. “Enjoy the coffee and I hope you have a great day.” This is already turning out to be the best day Harry’s had in months.

“Thank you, you too.” 

***

Louis still gets the earlier 7.43am from Watford High Street every weekday morning, the only difference being he now arrives at the station with Harry’s hand firmly in his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I have a Tumblr which is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hello. The specific post for this fic is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/post/183051149540/all-i-see-is-you-lately-written-as-part-of-the) if you want to be a gem and give it a like or share.
> 
> Comments and feedback is welcomed and always responded to!


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